


You're My Last Appointment

by ghettoassenglishman



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Donation, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When he pulls the curtain of cubicle B, he doesn't expect that he did in fact have the hottest fucking guy on the planet to take the blood from his vein. "</p><p>I'm donating blood today and I'm afraid of needles AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Last Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how blood donations work in the US or where, but in my town in the UK we usually do it in a church - So. Plus, I MADE A HIGHSCHOOL MUSICAL REFERENCE, HELL YEAH!! 
> 
> I need this ok.

Ian and Lip stood outside the small church, just a couple of blocks from the Gallagher house, inhaling the last drags of their smokes and letting the cloud of smoke evaporate into the air. New beginnings and all that; Ian was going to do something good, for once.

Lip stubs out his cigarette with the heel of his boot, “Why are you doing this again?”

Ian sighs; he's told Lip over and over why he was doing this. A couple of leaflets had come through with Lip's college letters in the mail. At first, Lip took the piss – saying that the world was becoming a land of vampires and that blood should just be for one body and that body only. Ian, however, took it differently. Over the past months, he had felt like his life was an old fashioned movie, all black and white and silent. The leaflets caught his eye and maybe, yes, he wanted to do something for the better instead of burdening his whole family with his disorder.

Stubbing out his smoke, Ian exhales, “It helps people, Lip.”

Lip shakes his head, still in resistance of the whole thing, he slaps Ian's shoulder, trying to prove his point effectively. “So does sex, but you don't see me becoming a prostitute, do you?” It was typically obvious that Lip would bring up the power of fucking – he'd been obsessed from the growth of his first pube.

Ian clicks his tongue, eyes rolling. “That's different.”

It was funny, really. It was almost as if Lip was against helping people. Despite the fact he had tried all week to stop Ian, Ian knew that he secretly wanted to do it too – he was just too pussy to actually go through with it. Lip scoffs, waving his hand lazily towards the church. “ _How_ is it different?”

“You can live without sex, Lip, but you can't live without blood.” Ian speaks pointedly, pressing his lips together when Lip looks at him like he's crazy.

Lip shrugs, chuckling a little. “Man, I couldn't live without it.”

Ian could of guessed. “ _Well,_ that's you.”

Lip slaps a hand onto Ian's back, shoving him towards the main doors of the church. “Is it just me or has this conversation got really fucking deep?” He shakes his head, giving Ian that boyish smile as his younger sibling glared with daggers present in his eyes.

Before Ian stepped through the double main doors, hands shaking, he smirks. “Balls deep.”

Lip pretends to hurl, fingers hovering over his tongue as he put on a ridiculous show. Ian just laughs, crossing his arms. In karma, Lip coughs out, “Please don't remind me of what you like to do in your spare time. I don't need to hear that shit, the squeaky bed springs tell enough.”

Ian flips him off, before letting out a loud, long sigh towards the entrance of the building. It was official, Ian was shitting himself to the maximum. Tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Ian tries to breathe. “Wish me luck.”

Lip gives him one last shove, before heading down the street in the opposite direction. Ian doesn't look back. Lip's laugh echoes down the broad street. “Say hey to the vampires for me!”

Ian's hands shake. Fucker.

***

Ian walks through the doors of the church, his body instantly wanting to turn when he saw the numerous cubicles lined up in the empty spaces beside the pews. _You can do this,_ Ian repeats to himself, over and fucking over and he it wasn't even settling yet. There was a line of people, all waiting for their names to be called out to face the needle. Ian slowly steps over to the a woman with a clipboard, a noise escapes his throat.

The woman looks up through over the brim of her glasses. “Can I help you?”

For a moment Ian thought he was born a mute, but his voice slightly cracked when the words passed through his mouth. “I-I'm here for an appointment. Ian Gallagher.”

She checks him out, eyes wandering from his scruffy converse to his tussled, tired mesh of red hair that stuck up against his scalp. With a intimidating tut, she scans her eyes over the list she held before her. She taps against his name, making Ian flinch before she tells him. “Ian Gallagher. Cubicle B. Try and relax while the donation is taken, makes our lives a little easier.” She hands him a slip, pointing towards the second curtain just behind him.

 _Relax._ Seriously? Ian couldn't relax even if the hottest fucking guy on the planet was extracting his blood and taking it for someone who desperately needed it. Needles were horrific, they made his legs shake, his hands tremble. It reminded him too much of when he went off the rails, injecting and snorting any drugs he was given, or find. Needles brought up too much past – but after-all, he needed to do something good, something that would make a small change in this disastrous world.

When he pulls the curtain of cubicle B, he doesn't expect that he _did_ in fact have the _hottest fucking guy on the planet_ to take the blood from his vein.

It was either a disaster in the making, _just_ to show Ian up. Or being in a church granted him some sort of hope, and luckiness that gave him this perfect specimen to take his blood. The brunette was sat, sorting out Ian's needle, tongue stuck out in concentration. He wore some _goodly_ black jeans that fit perfectly around his toned legs, his black tank-top fitted to his chest. The tussled hair on his scalp matched to Ian's, and oh _god,_ he had the brightest blue eyes Ian had ever seen.

Surely this guy was some sort of supermodel, or pornstar, not some guy who takes peoples bloods each day and sends them off for donations. Surely.

Now aware of Ian's presence, the guy raises his brow at Ian's stunned expression. He gestures towards the seat beside him, watching Ian carefully as he walked shiftily towards the black, pressed seat. “Ian Gallagher?” He asks, tapping his pen against the sheets of paper on his small desk.

Ian nods, the sight of the needle even more horrific now that it was closer. “I mean, Yeah, uh.” He shakily hands over the small slip given by the woman, putting his hands back in his lap as he sits back against the chair.

It was hard to choose which thing to look at. The needle, staring and laughing at him, _or_ the bright, blue balls of lights frowning in his direction. Both were distracting as fuck – but Ian almost felt that the both of them were equally able of helping someone.

In this case, this needle-guy _needed_ to help Ian.

Breaking the silence, the guy frowns, tone unexpected and rough with an extremely raw tint. “Man, why the hell are you tweaking like an addict on a come down?”

Ian jolts, barely catching one word. “What?”

The brunette scoffs, and if anything the smooth sound of his chuckle made Ian feel a little less scared. Ian watches as the man sorts out the needle, flicking it with his finger before scooting his stool closer to him. Ian flinches. The man places his hand on Ian's knee, (Anything to make Ian's cock twitch while his bones twitched.)

“ _Hey.”_ The guy calls out clearly, pulling Ian back to the present and not in the deep shores of his eyes. Ian splutters a little, before his eyes widened at the sight of the needle ready to stick into his vein. Luckily, the ravishing specimen before him, draws him back. “Seriously, man, why the fuck are you shaking like a shitting dog? What's your problem?”

Ian opens and closes his mouth, eyes moved from the needle and up to the sweet curve of the man's lips. _Holy shit, those lips._ Ian shakes his head; he wasn't going to admit that he had a problem with needles, _right in-front_ of the guy he might believe was his fate. Instead, he looks down towards the man's tattoo's, the crude scribbles against his knuckles that caused Ian's lips tug up with a smile.

Huh? _FUCK U-UP?_ Ian would prefer to fuck this guy _up_ the ass. Only after the torture of his blood being taken first.

The guy looks like he's loosing his patience, needle in hand, eyes locked to Ian's bobbing knee. He scowls, rubbing a hand over his face. “You need a piss or somethin'?” He asks, brow raised.

Ian doesn't need to take a piss, not at all, if anything he needed the toilet to hurl into. “I just-” He stutters, eyes directed back to the _huge_ needle handing obliviously in the man's hand. God _, he had perfect fucking hands too?_ Ian licks his lips, letting out a huge sigh that told the guy everything Ian couldn't say. Ian fiddles with his hands, biting his lip. “I just really fucking hate needles.”

God, if anyone sounded pathetic it was him.

The guy chuckles, fucking _chuckles,_ whilst his eyes widen with shock. It was clear as fuck that he was checking Ian out – his eyes were hungrily looking over him. This guy wasn't subtle at all. He grabs Ian's shaky arm. “Take off your shirt.”

Ian's mouth drops wide open, his breath caught in his throat. They were in a church for Christ's sake. “Wait-t, what?”

Was this guy _hitting_ on him? Wait was he-

The guy groans out loud, slamming his hand against his leg. “ _Do_ it, asshole. I need to stick this thing in your arm, don't I?” God. This guy had such a potty mouth. Thing was, Ian found it even more strange that this grumpy, blood extracting, dude, was sending sparks up his cock and through his chest just by cursing out like some thug that didn't know better.

Ian hesitates at first, sending the guy a glare for his choice of endearment. He leans forward, stripping himself from his jacket and white shirt. _Great one, Ian. Choose a white shirt when you're getting your blood taken?_ He smirks as he feels the other man watching, the brunettes tongue darting out to the corner of his lips as Ian slowly peeled off his shirt. _Just think about him, you'll be fine._ Ian chooses to tell himself.

The guy was sure a good choice of distraction.

The brunette clears his throat awkwardly, shaking himself as Ian leaned back against the chair, his toned chest glimmering with the clammy sweat that built from his nerves. “ _So,”_ The needle-guy says, scooting closer to Ian so they were literally sharing the same air. He brings Ian's arm closer, looking carefully for a vein, needle still in hand. “You're telling me you really hate needles but you come to donate blood, _which_ involves sticking a needle in your arm?”

Ian feels like he's talking to Lip all over again. He braces himself, looking over to the guy instead of the needle so closer to his skin. “It helps people.” He blurts, wincing a little when the guy wipes some sort of cold tissue against the crook of his forearm.

The brunette scoffs, not loosing his concentration. “Man, look around you. There's loads of fuckers ready to give up their blood to those vampires.”

 _God._ Ian really hated that term. “They're not really vampires. Just some people who need blood to make them healthy.”

Ian winces as the guy slowly injects the needle into his arm. He hates the feel, the past memories that co-sided with it, the guilt of all the bat-shit crazy stunts he pulled just a year ago. By the time the memories seeped through, they are discarded when the brunette starts rambling again.

The brunette gently caresses Ian's forearm as he takes the blood, his lips tugging at the corners when Ian's breathing started to quicken. “ _Really,_ you could just do this at home; grab a television cable wire, steal a clean needle, inject the fucker into your vein, take it to the nearest bank or whatever they're called these days, and _Bam._ You've donated blood.”

Ian finds himself amused. This guy was the cutest fucker he'd ever seen, more than that, the guy was some secret nerd that hid beneath a hard exterior, and the fact that he knew how to illegally inject a needle into your vein _shouldn't_ have turned him on as much as it did.

He keeps his eyes off the needle, nudging his knee briefly against the brunettes. “It scares me how you know all that.” He mumbles, smirking a little, despite his will to flinch up and run.

It's taking longer than Ian had expected, it hurt not as _much_ as he thought it would, but it still wasn't over yet and he could feel himself build those walls up all over again. The guy licks his lips, oblivious to the fact Ian was staring until he locked his gaze with Ian's. He brushes his thumb against Ian's arm and removes the needle.

He puts the needle upright, scooting himself over to the desk. “It scares _me,”_ he starts, drawing Ian's instant attention, both from the pain in his arm and the intriguing information about to be confessed into the open. “..that you're willing to face your fear of needles _just_ to donate a short amount of fucking blood.”

Ian shrugs, fingers tingling. “Like I said, it helps people.”

“You got some sort of hero complex?” The guy asks, not looking up.

You could say that. Ian had found himself in difficult situations – just to save a person from doing something crazy, or worse, life threatening. “That's just me.” Ian tells himself, because he had always told himself that. He looks up fast, just quick enough to catch the guy looking over with both admiration and confusion showering his expression, until he quickly diverted it to his sample.

After a while, Ian's sample had carefully been taken, the guy had pressed a cotton wool ball against Ian's injection point, Ian had pulled back on his shirt – catching the short look of dismay from the other man. He only smiles. Clearing his throat, he stands up, walking over to the guy he wanted to know more about, instead of just leaving. “ _So,”_ He leans against the table, crossing his arms over, wincing a little when he nudges his sore arm. “What do you do, I mean, besides stabbing people with needles and helping the local fuck-up face his fears through donating his blood to _vampires?”_ Ian makes sure he puts the last word with speech marks – he still hated that term.

The guy turns on his stool, wiping his hands against his jeans, as if with nerves. He doesn't look up at Ian, he just smirks, pretending to look through some more papers. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

“I would.” Ian confirms, straightly. “How about I get to know you better?”

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Ian internally slaps himself. _What kind of line was that?_

To his surprise, the guy didn't look too affected by the offer. Instead he stands up, gathering up his papers. Ian's a little nervous, more than he had been with the needle, it was just something about this dudes eyes – the way they worked like clock work, the way his iris changed colour through the shade of yellow shedding through the pain-glass windows. The _way_ he wouldn't stop staring at Ian like the sun shone out of his ass.

Ian decides he might as well just run, but when he nods awkwardly and goes to leave he feels himself being tugged back by the rough, low voice. “You asking me out, _Gallagher?”_

In a split second, Ian's face turns from low to high – light filling it completely. _All mine._ He turns to face the guy, feeling the tension build slightly as the guy fidgeted with the papers in his hands. Ian smirks, feeling a bubble in his chest. “Is that a yes?” Ian asks, smoothly.

The guy chews at his lip, before sighing. “It ain't a yes _and_ it ain't a no.” Ian's face drops with confidence, but the guy storms through unexpectedly. “I don't do that dating shit. _But,_ I do have a bottle of whisky and a ton of weed that needs smoking if you're up for it?”

 _Holy shit! Was that an offer to go back to his place?_ Ian feels himself about to burst.

Ian leans in, looking around the passers by walking around the church – he had utterly forgotten where they were, who was watching them, and _how_ a church actually works. He whispers, clear but low, “You sure we're aloud to say that shit in _here?”_

The brunette shrugs casually.“I don't give a fuck. You wanna come back to my place or what?”

If it wasn't blunt enough, Ian finds himself smirking towards the invitation. The guy was literally _hot_ as fuck, and had the sweetest, thuggish personality he had ever seen, plus the crude tattoo's that just made him even _more_ interesting. Ian wondered whether he'd ever find out the story behind them.

Ian rubs his sore arm before crosses them. “It's not a yes but it ain't a no.” He winks over to Mickey, only to receive a good earned middle finger to the face. He giggles a little, trying not to look like a dork or a dick at the same time. “ _But,_ I'd like that.”

Suddenly, the dark-haired man's face lit up into a shy smile, eyes twinkling a little. “Good.” He nods his head, hands still fidgeting with the papers in his hands. A long pause hits into the air, an eerie silence that Ian needed to break. Again, though, the brunette starts, palm out towards Ian. “Uh, the name's Mickey.”

 _Mickey._ Ian's eyes light up. _Mickey._ Oh, he wouldn't mind screaming that out whilst his dick was in his ass. _Mickey._ He could picture himself calling out that name on a cold, dark night, when he finds the other side of their king-size empty, he'd creep out of the room to find his husband Mickey all cosy up against the couch, eating a bowl of nachos and cheese-- _You need to stop._

Somehow, Ian forgets how hands work and comes up with nothing but a stutter. “Oh, I'm Ian.”

Mickey tilts his head, frowning slightly before pushing Ian's slip of paper back into to his chest. With a cheeky laugh, Mickey smiles with his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Ian had forgotten that he was here for an appointment, he had forgotten that Mickey had already found out his name merely ten minutes ago – _God, get your head in the game, Ian._ Ian laughs it off nervously, smacking himself inside, “Shit. Yeah. I, er, well this is fucking awkward.”

Mickey waves his freehand lazily, “Nah, man, you're just weird...-” Mickey squints as Ian's whole expression and colour changes, his skin dropping from its usual pink to a very pale white. He puts his paper down, “...and you look really fucking pale, you alright?” He rests his hand at Ian's shoulder, some how making the sick feeling in Ian's throat decrease wildly.

In a couple of seconds, Ian finds himself breathing steady. It was a moment of fear, more than anything, he wasn't so sure what was going to happen, but he didn't really meet people like this. He had never met anyone like Mickey before. He threads a hand through his red hair, messing it up even more than it was. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I just -” Ian itches his neck, before asking with a slight slur of queasiness. “What time do you finish?”

Mickey clicks his tongue, unmoving for a couple of seconds. He looks around before glancing at his watch. _19:47,_ it wasn't too early to drink, right? Mickey chews at his lip, “Actually, you're my last appointment.”

He smiles shyly again and Ian can't get enough of it.

Ian feels his heart beating fast; _Was this normal?_ He swallows harshly, before a smile cracked against his face, his lob-sided grin causing Mickey to glare. “That's lucky, right?” Ian asks, still a little worried that Mickey was all talk and typically not interested in Ian's boyish charm.

Instead, Mickey picks at the hem of his tank-top before he looks up with a sweet, but hidden smile that Ian felt he only reserved for rare occasions. Mickey smacks his lips together, looking anywhere but Ian, but when his eyes land on the redhead, he can't help but smirk. “I guess it is.”


End file.
